


yer okay

by foxkillskat



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Time Skip, SakuAtsu, Touching, no beta or edits so we really dyin like daichi, we all want to be held by atsumu
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29038962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxkillskat/pseuds/foxkillskat
Summary: Sakusa Kiyoomi feels everything, feels it too much.But not all of it hurts.  Not Miya Atsumu.
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 18
Kudos: 111





	yer okay

**Author's Note:**

> hey yall, foxkillskat here. i promise im workin on somethin happier, but, in the meantime, this one crawled its way out to speak fer itself
> 
> hope yer all okay, and that ya can find some comfort to enjoy in this unedited mess

  
It hurts.Everything about it hurts.

Kiyoomi keeps his eyes closed through the entire process, tilts his head back, opens his mouth wider when asked.As much as he wishes he could, he can’t disassociate.

Instead, he feels everything.

He feels the scraping of the pick between his teeth, the sharp whir of the polishing buffer as it bumps against his gums, the suction device digging deep into the side of his mouth.All of these things are uncomfortable, but tolerable.

What’s unbearable, what has Kiyoomi’s legs shaking and eyelids twitching, are the fingers pressing into his cheeks, his chin, his lips.It makes no difference that there’s a thin layer of rubber between their contact.

A stranger is touching his face.

And it hurts.

Kiyoomi tries to think of anything else.His mind flashes through memories like an old movie reel.Scenes roll by, places, faces, but none of them will stick.None of them are stronger than the jarring light above, so bright he can see it through his eyelids, and the voice in his ear, asking him to bite down.

He does as he’s told.He does what he has to do.

Teeth cleanings, physicals, eye exams: these are the things which prepare him for the world, which keep him healthy, which make him into a functional adult.So, Kiyoomi does them, even if they leave him hurting, even if he spends the entire night beforehand dreaming up scenarios to escape the impending torment, even if he nearly convinces himself he could give it all up and stay in bed, never leave his house again, withdraw from the world and everything in it.

He can’t do that.But he can do this.

He can sit in this chair and be poked and prodded like an animal fit for slaughter.He can tremble until his legs are sore to the point of stumbling.He can force out polite nods, mumble yes’s and no’s and I’m fine’s for the approximate forty-five minutes it takes to get in and out.But—

He can do this.

— it never gets any easier, no matter how many times Kiyoomi makes it through to the other side.This time, though, he doesn’t leave alone.

The dental assistant chats endlessly as she leads him back toward the front desk, but he doesn’t hear a word of it.If only he could turn off feeling the way his brain simply shuts down his hearing whenever it pleases.Sight, he would choose to keep.From the moment he turns the corner, all he can do is watch the back of Atsumu’s head through the lightly frosted glass of the front window.

His hair is getting long, and he threads his fingers through it, rubbing what was once shaved short as he speaks into the phone pressed to his ear.Even without hearing, Kiyoomi knows who he’s talking to — Atsumu is always yapping, yelling, yammering away with his brother.Sometimes, Kiyoomi wishes twins were telepathic so he wouldn’t have to hear it.Other times, most times, he finds it comforting. 

He finds Atsumu’s voice comforting.

“Sir?” the receptionist prompts.“Will the fourth work for your next appointment?Same time?”

Kiyoomi snaps out of it and finds himself nodding.He has no clue what month, what year the woman is talking about, but she accepts his response and taps away at her keyboard.He wouldn’t remember anyways; the date has already faded into the dark edges of his mind.

A few more nods, a yes and a thank you, and he’s free.The brisk wind threatens to knock his weak legs to the ground as he steps into it, and forces him to zip up his coat.He wants to put on a mask, too, but he can’t bear to touch his own face.Not until he scrubs it all away, makes it new and clean.

“I told ya, I don’t have it.”Atsumu’s voice hits him, fills him up.

Kiyoomi straightens just a bit.

“That was one time!”Atsumu’s back is to him, but Kiyoomi can imagine his exasperated look by his free hand alone, waving in the air like he’s shooing Osamu’s words away.

“Come over and look then,” he challenges, hand moving to his hip in defiance.

Kiyoomi steps forward enough to enter his field of view, and those eyes widen, a smile taking over.

“No— not tonight.”Atsumu holds up a finger to him.“Hey, ‘Samu?I gotta go” —he tilts his head while he speaks, eyes crinkling— “mhm, I’ll look again.Love ya too, bye.”

Atsumu turns off the screen and slides it into his pocket.“Omi-kun!That was fast.”

Not fast enough.Never fast enough.

“You didn’t have to wait,” Kiyoomi manages, words forced even.

“I told ya I would.”Atsumu gives him a funny look, seeing right through his facade.“Wanna come to my place?We can watch a movie.I bought that fancy popcorn with the—”

Kiyoomi shakes his head, killing Atsumu’s words in his mouth.“I want to go home.”

Atsumu smiles, soft and slow.“Mind if I come with?”

Kiyoomi shakes his head again, dizzy.Walking helps, focusing on one foot after the other, hitting the ground and coming back up over and over and over.Atsumu’s steps fall in line with his, the dissonance of the two morphing into a rhythm of one, and at some point, Kiyoomi is no longer leading.He’s following behind Atsumu, fingers twisted tight in the elbow of his bright yellow sweatshirt. 

How they got there is a mystery, and even though Kiyoomi hates unknowns, he leaves this one be.All he can do is hold tight down the crowded streets, up the narrow stairs, through the dusty entryway and into safety.He ends up in his bathroom, face dipped low under the tap, water as hot as he can make it filling every pore, every crease, every dent those intrusive fingers left behind, real or otherwise.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, how long he’s been scrubbing and scraping and shaking under the flow, but it’s never long enough.It can’t be. 

Kiyoomi tries and fails to catch Atsumu’s arm as he reaches for the tap.This doesn’t stop him.The water goes off, wash cloth torn from his grip, and Atsumu is pulling him in, wrapping him up with heavy arms that sink into him and steady him all the same.

“My face—” Kiyoomi tries to turn his head away to keep the water off Atsumu’s clothes, but Atsumu holds him tighter.“Your sweatshirt—”

“It’s okay, Omi-kun,” Atsumu shushes him with that placid voice, lulling him.“Yer okay.”

He’s okay?

Is he okay?

Raw and red, his face still hurts.His legs ache and his eyelids have grown heavy with the weight of it all.But—

It’s okay.

—he lets them fall, sinking into the black.His legs, too.They buckle and bend until his damp face settles into Atsumu’s shoulder, burying deep into his soft sweatshirt, smelling of soap.

Kiyoomi is okay.

Atsumu’s hand moves up his back and settles at the nape of his neck, fingers threading through his long hair, rubbing what was once shaved short.

“Yer okay,” Atsumu repeats, comforting, “I got you.”

Kiyoomi straightens just a bit. 

“It’s okay,” he echoes, comforted, “I’m okay.”


End file.
